From fleapit to the red carpet

His new movie has just won eight Oscars, but at home Danny Boyle will always
be a Manchester lad, mad about cinema.

With his high-domed forehead, bushy eyebrows and air of professorial unkemptness, Danny Boyle was in contention for the title of biggest, most cheerful misfit Hollywood has ever seen. The double cuffs and dark suit could not disguise the fact that Slumdog Millionaire's director was in a league of sartorial incomprehension all his own. Tie askew, pate glistening under the lights, Boyle looked as though he belonged at the little laminate tables of St Mary's Catholic social club, Radcliffe, where friends and family were celebrating his Oscar glory, rather than Hollywood's brashly sumptuous Kodak Theatre.

And, in fact, that is exactly where he was in spirit. He had promised his father, 88-year-old Frank Boyle, and his twin sister, Maria, that he would get in a mention of Radcliffe – the working-class area of Manchester where he was brought up – should the occasion arise. Such promises are not lightly made – or kept. Boyle's indebtedness to his parents is well known and his northern rootedness is deep. In his joyous acceptance speech, therefore, Radcliffe duly received its moment of filial recognition, to the bemusement of Los Angeles glitterati who had probably not even heard of Manchester.

Had they even heard of Winnie the Pooh? If not, Boyle's childish acceptance behaviour would have flummoxed them further. Bouncing up and down with delight at Slumdog's multiple awards, including his own Oscar for best director, Boyle performed a passable imitation of Tigger. "My kids are too young to remember this," he explained, "but I swore that if this miracle happened, I would receive it in the spirit of Tigger from Winnie the Pooh."

While Hollywood blubbed and raved over the most successful British film since The English Patient won nine Oscars in 1997, Frank Boyle delivered a verdict of uncompromising sanity. Dressed in a red V-neck jumper and checked flat cap, Danny Boyle's dad raised a glass of what looked suspiciously like orange juice and said of Slumdog: "I think it's reasonable." He added: "He's not making films for me. He is making them for younger filmgoers, so I won't say anything more about it. I really liked the music. I thought it was wonderful."

Danny Boyle, 52, was born and brought up not far from the club in Radcliffe. His father was a manual labourer and his devout Irish mother, who died young, passed on to him her philosophy of believing the best in people. He dedicated his low-budget 2004 film, Millions, to them because, as he said, they worked hard to educate him and let him develop his imagination. As a teenager, this meant haunting the fleapit at Hulme and sneaking into the porn cinema at Bolton.

During one of his many forays to Bolton, he was fired by Stanley Kubrick's A Clockwork Orange. The film was on release in Britain for only a few weeks before it was withdrawn. Unaware of the controversy, Boyle was indelibly affected by its "violence and sex and style" – an influence that critics have identified in Slumdog's frenzy and vibrancy – and the experience made him want to be a film director in much the same unfocused way that, as a boy, he'd wanted to be a train driver.

At school, Boyle seriously considered becoming a priest, but he became interested in directing plays and joined the theatre when he left. First the Joint Stock Theatre Company, then, in 1982, he moved to London's Royal Court, where he directed Genius by Howard Brenton and Saved by Edward Bond. Soon he was into television, directing episodes of Inspector Morse and the acclaimed BBC2 series Mr Wroe's Virgins. He also directed five productions for the Royal Shakespeare Company.

His first film was Shallow Grave, followed by Trainspotting, two films that revitalised British cinema. A Life Less Ordinary (co-starring Cameron Diaz) was less memorable and the disappointing The Beach, filmed in Thailand, with Leonardo DiCaprio, turned out to be a bruising Hollywood experience because of his feud with Ewan McGregor over casting. Afterwards, Boyle concluded that he was "better at making films on my own turf". He went on to international success with 28 Days Later, a postmodern zombie thriller with largely unknown actors.

Andrew Macdonald, producer of Boyle's 1996 Trainspotting, recently remarked: "Boyle takes a subject that you've often seen portrayed realistically, in a politically correct way, whether it's junkies [in Trainspotting] or slum orphans, and he has managed to make it realistic but also incredibly uplifting and joyful." Macdonald describes how completely Boyle dominates his films. "There are some directors who like to sit behind the monitor, but he is everywheree_SLps He likes talking to people and whipping them up."

Boyle recently acknowledged that his art requires a certain madness. "To be a film-maker," he said, "you have to lead. You have to be psychotic in your desire to do something. People always like the easy route. You have to push very hard to get something unusual, something different."

Slumdog Millionaire is the apotheosis of that almost psychotic obsession. But that is not something the staff and patrons at St Mary's social club were particularly impressed by. As the club treasurer said, with that northern distrust of excess: "He might be well-known for his films, but down here he is just Frank Boyle's lad." As for the lad himself, he was reported to have left the Oscars with his golden statuette in a blue plastic carrier bag.

A British triumph – but what next?

One need not be wildly patriotic to consider Sunday night a huge triumph for Britain. Our films, and the people who contributed to them, won no fewer than 11 Oscars in 24 categories. To have travelled to the heartland of US cinema and walked away with almost half the prizes proves that our industry can punch way above its weight.

The astonishing Slumdog Millionaire – made for a tenth of the budget of its nearest rival, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button – accounted for eight of those 11 Oscars. Its success was as remarkable as the Oscar for Kate Winslet’s portrayal of a former SS guard in The Reader. It was equally heartening that James Marsh should win an Oscar for his riveting documentary Man on Wire. And the Academy’s voters deserve praise for recognising the contribution to The Duchess of its imaginative costume designer, Michael O’Connor. His victory confirmed that Britain has some of the best behind-the-camera talent in the world.

But a word of caution should be sounded. Independent producers are finding it devilishly hard to raise funds. This is especially true of riskier, off-beat films. Slumdog Millionaire comes into this category. Sure, the whole world loves it now. But five months ago, after it almost went straight to video in the US for the lack of a distributor, the notion that a film set in the slums of Mumbai, spoken partly in Hindi and featuring exclusively Indian characters, could win eight Oscars would have been laughed at.

Such original movies tend to be financed at least partly by two of our TV broadcasters, BBC Films (behind Man on Wire) and Film 4 (originator of Slumdog). Now there is talk of Film 4’s parent company, Channel 4, merging with BBC Worldwide.

The plan may have its virtues in TV terms, but London’s film community fears that it would mean one door less on which prospective film?makers could knock.

We should rejoice in our Oscar successes now — but will Britain still have a film industry to employ our gifted actors, directors and craftspeople? It’s not at all certain.